


poetry in bloom

by charizona



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Grocery Store AU, Threesome - F/F/F, gemma unicorns for established villaneve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27537232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charizona/pseuds/charizona
Summary: Gemma gets propositioned by her two favorite customers (who are also dating?!).
Relationships: Gemma/Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 7
Kudos: 82





	poetry in bloom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imunbreakabledude](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imunbreakabledude/gifts).



> not to be gay but ao3 user imunbreakabledude has been a huge part of me finding happiness in this fandom! so this is for her.

The day Elena asks Gemma to cover her shift in the flower department, they’ve only just finished putting up the new sign. It reads _poetry in bloom_ in a crisp, sans-serif font that one can see from almost across the store. It’s a perfect switch up from her normal routine — an early morning in the back of the bakery, hands rolling out dough, decorating cakes, and sweeping the floors. 

Instead, she’s in the flower department, where the smells are different, and still as good, as the ones in the bakery. Where the crisp scent of yeast normally finds her, she’s slathered in the sweetness of roses, the tart of lilies, and the warmth of daisies. It’s her second favorite place in the store, if she’s being honest, so it’s no trouble at all to spend her day there.

What _is_ trouble is when people actually ask her about the flowers. She knows every kind of bread, every possible decorating style, but if you ask her what flowers mean, beyond what they smell like and what _that_ means, she doesn’t know squat. 

She’s in the middle of reading some of the blurbs, cross-legged on a stool just behind the counter, when a soft, feminine voice says, “Hi there,” and draws Gemma away from a page about the different colors of roses and their meanings. 

To be honest, she hadn’t been thinking about roses at all. She’d been daydreaming about the butcher in the meat department, a kind, mustachio’d man she’d been playing the long game with. Blinking now, she lets the woman before her come into focus — a bit taller than Gemma with a mane of curly hair, tied lazily back into a ponytail. 

The woman points at the flowers scattered around, and Gemma remembers she’s not in her usual department. “What flowers would you say are perfect for ‘I fucking hate you,’” the woman asks, looking at Gemma expectantly.

“Ehm,” Gemma flails, because this woman is _gorgeous_. Clear skin, beautiful hair, slim build. She’s got just the right amount of stern in her expression, yet she’s open, inquisitive. Gorgeous, again, is the only word that comes to mind. The woman blinks at her meaningfully, and Gemma scrambles. “Sorry! Ehm, you’re just— you’re _gorgeous_ , can I ask what creams you use?”

“Oh,” the woman says. “Nothing really fancy, just…” Except Gemma isn’t listening. While not closeted, Gemma practically never gives off sapphic vibes to anyone she talks to. It’s both a blessing and a curse — she can give women compliments every minute of every day, but nothing really comes of it. Nevermind Gemma’s imagining this woman’s incredible face between her thighs. 

“I’ll have to check it out.” Gemma plays it cool, pretending she heard a single word the woman said. “As for your flowers, I’m not sure what you mean?”

“It’s just a joke.” The woman glances at a pile of roses. Red ones. Almost the color of blood. “Someone at work fucked things up for me and I wanted to repay them.”

“With flowers.” Gemma realizes how out of it she sounds. Flowers are meant to be for _love_ , for _forgiveness_ , or for _desire_. Not meant to be given to a workplace enemy. “I think you might be better off with these.” Gemma leaves her safe haven behind the counter and enters the land of the customers, side stepping the woman with about as much grace as a prepubescent boy with a crush. She leads the woman to a small section of daffodils, white ones. “There are quite a few types that smell absolutely horrid, in my opinion, but these are the only ones we carry.”

The woman reaches out a hand, twirling veiny fingers around the soft, white pedals. After taking a breath in, she says, “I don’t smell anything.”

“It smells perfectly normal to most people,” Gemma explains. “Except for about a fourth of the populace. They think it smells like, well, like shit.”

The woman smiles at that, leaning in even further. “What kind of people seem to think so?”

“Sorry?”

“Do you think a certain kind of person smells them differently? Or is it just random?”

Now is where Gemma should say, _I actually don’t work in florals_ , instead of coming up with an elaborate explanation based on half-baked suspicions. “Well,” she starts, buying herself time. What kind of person _would_ be the type not to see (or smell, in this case) and appreciate beautiful flowers. “A particularly dark person, maybe?” She watches the woman’s eyes, attempting to see if she’s going even remotely in the right direction. “Or perhaps someone who has ambition, but of a different sort than the rest of us. Someone who operates on a separate wavelength.”

The woman laughs, a sharp, breathless sound. “These are perfect. Can you set up a bouquet?”

Gemma nods, moving to do so as the woman walks through the rest of the section. Gemma glances, occasionally, as she puts together the flowers. Watches as the woman undoes her ponytail and runs a hand through her hair, more glorious than Gemma would have guessed. She takes her time to redo the tie, returning to Gemma at the counter.

“Would you like them wrapped?” Gemma asks, hoping her inflection somehow lets this woman know that Gemma would definitely not be opposed to going to dinner with a woman who buys her workplace enemy flowers. She can’t imagine how this woman treats someone when she actually likes them. But no, Gemma’s mind says, she’s probably married. All the best ones are.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

Gemma nods and wraps the flowers in tissue paper. She reads out the total and the woman offers a card to her. Gemma peeks, okay? She peeks at the name, filing it away. “All set,” she says.

The woman takes the flowers. “Thank you so much.” She moves to walk off, but then stops. “What was your name?”

“Gemma.”

“Great. Thanks, Gemma. I’m Eve,” the woman says. “I’d offer a hand, but—” she gestures to the flowers, and Gemma nods frantically. 

“Nice to meet you, Eve!” And she sounds _pathetic_. To add the cherry on top, she says, “I’m usually in the bakery department, in case you ever…” She was gonna say _come back_ , but instead she trails off awkwardly. 

“Of course,” Eve says, before laughing and walking away, disappearing into the aisles of the store. 

Gemma leans against the floral counter, resting her chin in her hands. Sigh. Really? “In case you ever?” she asks herself. Ugh.

.

Elena is leaning over the bakery counter almost three days later, as Gemma recounts her strange experience with Eve. Well, it wasn’t actually strange, sure, but Gemma tells it that way, elaborating on the “connection” she felt with her. Elena listens with a face that tells Gemma she doesn’t immediately _believe_ Gemma, but that’s fine. Gemma prattles on anyway, glancing over at a newcomer in the department, a tall woman weaving between the stacks of bread and cakes, taking everything in.

Gemma stops short when the woman comes to the counter, glancing at Elena, who immediately straightens and stops talking, effectively disappearing in the eyes of the customer. “Hi!” Gemma chirps. “How can I help you?”

“Hi,” the woman replies, standing with her hands in her pocket. She’s _beautiful,_ in the way models are. Tall and lean, pin-straight blonde hair. The type of girl that usually leaves Gemma stammering and awkward. “I’d like to order a cake.”

“Perfect,” Gemma says, while Elena makes wide eyes at her. “What kind?”

“Carrot,” the woman says immediately, the word like a marble in her mouth with her accent. It’s something Eastern European, but Gemma can’t place it. “Has to be carrot.”

“Okey-doke,” Gemma responds, pulling up the order screen. “Do you want anything on you? I mean, on _it_. It.”

The woman’s lips twitch into a smile, and she actually looks Gemma up and down, blatantly checking her out. Finally, she says, “Yes. Could you write, ‘Make me,’ on it?”

Gemma meets bright green eyes with her own. She gulps. “Yes, I can. Will that be all?”

“I hope not,” the woman responds. “But for today, yes.”

Gemma rings the woman up without fucking anything else up, and once she’s gone, Elena’s mouth drops and she says, “Okay, I wasn’t convinced with your story earlier, but now _this_?”

“What was that?” Gemma wonders, hand on her chest. She’s blushing like mad, that’s for sure. And then she looks down to the receipt where the woman signed for the card. She may or may not start screaming. Literally. She goes, “Wait, she left her _number!_ ”

Elena snatches the receipt from across the counter. “Oh my god,” she breathes, reading it. “She signed ‘Villanelle,’ what kind of name is that?”

“I don’t know,” Gemma sighs, snatching the receipt back. “Should I care? Should I _call her_?”

“Should you— _yes!_ You should call her.”

“What do I say? Hi, you left your number at the bakery?”

“Ask her if she wants it back.”

Gemma tilts her head. “That’s actually clever.”

Elena hands Gemma back the receipt, shaking her head. “I’ve got to get back to shift, but if you don’t call that number, I will.”

“She didn’t even—” Elena walks off, leaving Gemma to finish awkwardly on her own, “...give it to you. Okay.”

.

Gemma doesn’t call the number. But after a few weeks, she finds she doesn’t have to. Villanelle comes in again, stopping by the bakery just to say hello. Gemma asks how the cake went, and Villanelle laughs, clearing her throat. _Very well_ , she says, with an eyebrow wag. She doesn’t mention the number, Gemma doesn’t bring it up, and so the receipt goes stale in her apron pocket after that, because it’s too weird to text her _now_ that she’s seen her again. Right?

Eve comes in again, too, and comes by just to say hi. It becomes sort of a thing, two of her new favorite customers, who come by and ask her questions about her life, as if they care. Gemma waits for one of them to ask her out, but nothing comes. She supposes she’s become one of those women people just like talking to, and sure, that’s fine. She’ll watch from afar as her new favorites tuck hair behind their ears, or come in looking absolutely stunning in what is obviously designer clothing. Designer, really, for a local store?

Despite the questions they ask her, Gemma rarely returns the favor, for fear her interest will border on annoying. 

“How are you today, Gemma?” Eve wonders, after it’s been almost two months since she first came in. 

“Very good, actually,” Gemma hums, because it’s true. Niko, the butcher, finally asked her out, after _weeks_ of hinting. “I have a date tonight.”

Eve looks up sharply, tearing her eyes away from Gemma’s hands, where she presses into some dough over and over and over again. “A date?”

Nodding, Gemma says, “He’s very sweet. A bit awkward, and I really thought we were just friends for a long time, but who knew? I’m excited.”

“Well, good luck,” Eve murmurs, before bidding farewell and moving on.

Luck is something that it turns out she needs. The date goes horribly — Niko talks about himself most of the time, not bothering to ask Gemma about _her_ , and sure, they work together, but that doesn’t mean he already knows everything. She, on the other hand, already knows about his garden and his trouble with the tomatoes. Does he know about her sourdough starter at home and how well it’s doing? Has he even once asked about Mr. Pompom? 

She doesn’t sleep with him. All she wanted was that he wasn’t _weird_. The bar was on the floor. Instead, Gemma goes to sleep and spends her day off with herself, a romantic movie on and a hand occasionally between her thighs. 

When she returns to work the day after, she’s surprised to see both Eve and Villanelle at the store. It’s almost the icing on the cake when Villanelle crosses the bakery floor to come to, presumably, talk to Gemma, but instead glances over and sees Eve, standing in front of the milk section, scrutinizing the fridges. Gemma watches and dies as Villanelle turns and heads over to Eve. She leans against the fridge and says something probably so smooth and devastating, and Eve laughs. Like tosses her head back and smiles, laughing.

Neither of them say hello to Gemma that day.

And isn’t it fitting when she sees them come in together the next time, then the next, and she herself has to avoid Niko? She lets Villanelle’s number get lost completely, and when she doesn’t see either of them for a month, she gives up entirely. 

She’s in the middle of flirting with the new manager of the barista when she spots them coming in for the first time in weeks. Together, once again, with elbows linked and their mouths open in laughter. Except instead of beelining to the aisles and disappearing, Villanelle’s head turns and finds her across the bakery section, making eye contact.

She says something to Eve, who follows her gaze, and they come right for her.

“Gemma?” the manager asks, waving a hand in front of her face.

“Sorry, um, I should go—” Gemma skirts around them and pretends she doesn’t see Eve and Villanelle coming right for her. 

She organizes the bread shelf, right as Villanelle comes up behind her and says, “Hi, Gemma.”

Gemma stands up. “Oh, hi! Both… of you.” She looks between Villanelle and Eve.

“Would you like to come over for dinner?” Eve asks, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. 

“Dinner?” Gemma again looks between the two of them. They look almost as if they fit together — Villanelle, a solid few inches taller than Eve, wearing a sundress and her hair pulled into a half ponytail. Eve, in a button-up shirt and nice slacks. They look better together than Gemma could ever hope to look with either one of them. She directs the second half of her question at Eve. “To yours? Or, erm, with you?”

“With both of us,” Villanelle says. “To our flat.”

“Both… of you.” 

Eve says, “Yes. Our treat.”

Gemma says yes. What else are you supposed to say? She says yes, Eve and Villanelle give her their address (their _combined_ address) and once they leave, Gemma fully expects someone to step out from behind the bread shelves and yell, _Surprise!_ and shove a camera in her face. But no one does. Life resumes, people come up to the counter, and she has to listen to them and pretend she didn’t just get… asked out? Asked over? What is this supposed to be?

She consults Elena, after work and over the phone, as she picks an outfit. “Try that… That one shirt you have that hugs your tits and shows off your—”

“I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard,” Gemma argues, holding up the shirt in question. “What about a dress?”

“Nothing too dressy. Maybe the long sleeve with the scoop neck?”

A maroon number. She pulls it out, holding it in front of her body before a mirror. Chewing her lip, she scrutinizes herself. It’s definitely sexy, but tame enough to just be something someone wears to dinner. That settles it.

Elena bids her farewell with a _tell. me. everything._ tacked on at the end, and after a quick search on Google Maps, Gemma realizes she can walk to their house. Perfect. Shrugging into a jacket, she uses the evening chill to clear her head, ready herself for whatever happens tonight. Sure, she can just have dinner with these two amazing women she’s entertained for the past few months. Or, it could be something more. Whatever happens.

“You’ve got this,” she murmurs to herself, before knocking on the door to their flat. 

They let her in. They invite her into their home, and Gemma watches, with a sick sense of _this was a bad idea_ , as they navigate the kitchen and finish the dinner like they’ve done it a thousand times. They know where each other are, when to sidestep and when to help out. Gemma’s been third wheel a lot (most notably, with Elena and her longtime boyfriend Kenny), and she finds she can recognize it irritatingly easily.

And the worst part? Both of them look gorgeous, as usual. Villanelle has a casual blazer ensemble going, no doubt some designer label that costs more than Gemma’s car, and Eve has a turtleneck tucked into dark plaid pants.

By the time the dinner is over, Gemma does not want to stay and chat. She wants to leave and scroll through dating apps until she finds someone to sleep with. Or even better, go to a bar, get plastered, see if there are any prospects there.

She’s figuring out how to excuse herself as politely as possible when Eve clears her throat and says, “We’d like to sleep with you,” just like that. Easy. Upfront. She adds, “If you also want to do that.”

Gemma stares at her. Then, at Villanelle, who offers her a close-lipped smile, a smile that reads, _Please?_

Gemma’s gonna be sick. “Erm, well, thank you, um. Excuse me, however, I must—” Gemma gestures behind her, and Eve nods.

“It’s just right down the hallway.”

She makes a hasty exit and dives into the bathroom, closing the door behind her and pressing her back against it. This is, quite honestly, a dream come true. She can’t stop _smiling_ . Two devastatingly attractive women and _both_ are interested in sleeping with her. At the same time! Gemma scrambles to pull out her phone, quickly dialing Elena’s number.

Elena answers, chewing loudly. “Yeah? Is it over then?”

“Theywanttosleepwithme!” Gemma’s words come out more like a single word than a sentence, in a whispered, desperate rush that could be easily mistaken for a squeak. 

“Say that again?”

“They. Want. To. Sleep. With. _Me._ ”

There’s a clatter on the other end of the phone call, until finally, Elena says, “Isn’t this what we wanted?”

“I don’t know! Yes! Maybe? I mean, _definitely_ , but is this not mad?”

“Just do it! Unless you don’t want to. How did they—”

Gemma whispers frantically, “I’m here, we’ve just finished dinner, and they just… _told me_.”

“Asked or told? That seems like a big difference.”

“Asked, then. Well, Eve said they wanted to sleep with me, and—”

“Gemma! Why are you calling me?”

“What? I thought I needed— I wanted your advice.”

“Fuck my advice, go out and sleep with them!”

Gemma tries to come up with some reason against it. She can’t possibly imagine what everyone else will say — people at work (besides Elena) would most likely judge her, but then again, who _else_ is getting the opportunity to sleep with not just one, but two, simply beautiful women?

“I’m hanging up,” Elena tells her. “If you don’t do this, then I’ll respect you, obvi, but I will also never let you live it down. Please, for my sake.”

The line goes dead. Gemma is left alone with her panic, before she bolts to the mirror and starts looking herself over. Her hair hangs normally, nothing special. Her makeup, subtle yet still noticeable, could use a touch up, except she left her bag on the table. Finally, she settles with staring herself down in the mirror.

“This will be fun,” she tells herself. “Don’t freak out.”

That’s enough. She gives herself a smile, then slips out of the door a different woman. Cool, composed, calm; she’s got it all. She returns to find Eve and Villanelle have moved to the couch, leaving a Gemma-sized space between the two of them. Villanelle sees her first, and gives her a smile. “Care to join?” She holds up an extra glass of red wine.

Okay, Gemma. Now or never. “Yes,” she says, her voice surprisingly steady. “I think I will.”

That’s how she ends up between the two of them, most of the red wine finished, with Eve and Villanelle on either side of her. It feels like a romcom of the most cheesy variety, except it’s Gemma actual _real_ life. Villanelle leans next to her, elbow propped up on the back of the couch, listening intently as Gemma prattles on about what she feels is her boring, insignificant life. “I’m talking too much, aren’t I?” she asks them, turning to Eve, who mostly faces her, hands neatly clasped in her lap.

Villanelle reaches over and tucks hair out of Gemma’s face, pulling it over her shoulder and exposing her neck. “I like listening to you,” she murmurs, and then she’s leaning in and oh, well, she’s kissing Gemma’s neck. It’s a soft tickle at first, before Villanelle bares her teeth and scrapes them just under Gemma’s ear.

“That’s— um, wow, that’s nice.”

Eve’s hand slips to Gemma’s knee, playing with the hem of her dress, teasing past it. “What were you saying?”

“I don’t quite—” Gemma lets out a sound that _isn’t_ a moan, thank you, but is definitely a breath, maybe a bit of a gasp. “Um, I don’t recall.”

“That’s okay,” Villanelle says softly, and her voice sends chills ricocheting through Gemma, bouncing across her nerves like a reverent pianist, dancing, pummeling, driving. “What do you like, Gemma?”

“Like, as in—”

“What are you into?” Villanelle presses her lips to Gemma’s pulse point, and surely she can feel it pounding there, just underneath the skin.

Gemma opens her mouth, but Eve, ever elusive, lifts a hand, grabs Gemma by the jaw, and turns her head, kissing her right on the lips. Gemma’s first thought is _soft_ — it’s been a while since she’s been with a woman, and not for lack of trying. Eve kisses like she takes up space, barely there, leaving Gemma wanting more, more, more. Gemma tries to deepen it, opening her mouth and pulling Eve’s bottom lip between her teeth, but Eve slides just out of grasp, moving her lips to the corner of Gemma’s mouth.

Villanelle’s hand lifts to Gemma’s throat, holding her lightly as she kisses down to Gemma’s collarbone. The hand slides down, ghosting across Gemma’s chest, and if her bosom heaves at the mere _thought_ of a touch, Gemma doesn’t think about it.

Villanelle notices, though, and says, “You are gorgeous,” in a register lower than she’s used all night.

On Gemma’s other side, she feels Eve smile against her before pulling Gemma into another kiss. A few things happen at once — Eve’s tongue slips across Gemma’s bottom lip, both teasing and ruining, and Villanelle’s hand lands where Gemma wants it, right on the outside of her shirt, palming across a stiff nipple that Gemma’s sure Villanelle can feel. Villanelle’s hand moves with purpose, cupping as much of Gemma as she can, as she bites into Gemma’s neck hard enough to make Gemma squeak.

Villanelle’s hand slides under the scoop neck of her dress, then slides into her bra, squeezing. 

Eve kisses her, stealing her attention, and before she realizes it, Villanelle is kneeling in front of her, pushing Gemma’s knees apart slightly. Gemma lets Villanelle grab her by the back of the knees and pull her to the edge of the couch. Her hands slide past the hem of Gemma’s dress, pushing it up, and Gemma lets out an involuntary laugh.

“Tickles,” she mutters by way of explanation. She’s floating, high above all of this. 

Villanelle smiles at her from between her legs. “Sorry,” she says, but doesn’t sound it.

It’s the press of Villanelle’s lips against her through her underwear — lace, she’d picked out earlier — that plummets her right back into her body. She feels like she’s on fire, the burn of it centered on both the pressure of Villanelle’s mouth against her clit, both too much and not enough, and Eve’s lips against her jaw, Eve’s hands on her breasts.

“Stay quiet,” Eve tells Gemma, in a soft, yet commanding tone.

That’s easy, Gemma thinks, but then Villanelle pulls her underwear aside and laps at her, dragging a tongue through Gemma’s arousal, and okay, maybe that won’t be as easy as she thought. 

It’s the combination of not wanting to disappoint Eve by disobeying her simple command and Villanelle’s tongue, teasing at her entrance with her hands on Gemma’s calves. Soon enough, Villanelle has her tongue circling Gemma’s clit and a finger pushing into her, while Eve somehow slips behind her and kisses her neck, holds her breasts, lets Gemma’s chest heave with desperation, need, and want.

She comes relatively quickly, Villanelle’s fingers curling inside of her, and is a gasping mess by the end of it. Villanelle immediately climbs up and kisses her; Gemma can taste herself on her lips.

Grabbing Gemma’s hand, Villanelle pulls her to her feet, Eve following quickly behind. Standing in the middle of their living room, Villanelle shrugs out of her blazer and reveals a high-collared bodysuit underneath, and then she’s grabbing Gemma’s dress, pulling it up.

It’s a flurry of clothes and hands and mess, but then Gemma is quite literally pressed between the two of them, Eve’s hand between her legs and Villanelle’s hips grinding against her ass, hands on Gemma’s waist. She trades kisses with Eve and Villanelle both, taking an extra beat to watch them kiss each other right over her shoulder. 

“Bedroom,” Villanelle murmurs into Eve’s lips.

It’s not awkward, the walk to the bedroom upstairs. All three of them are in various states of naked, so Gemma takes the time to look at them both, properly. Villanelle has a push-up bra on that perfectly frames her tits, where Eve has just a thin, lacy bralette, perfect for her. Gemma has on the best thing she was able to find in a random department store, just something black and plain.

Villanelle disappears into the closet, while Eve pulls Gemma in for a messy kiss. Within moments, Villanelle stands behind her, her hips pressing into Gemma’s ass once again, except this time with an added pressure of a silicone appendage.

Gemma turns, taking it in. Villanelle asks, “We have other sizes, but I figured this would be…”

This is really happening. This isn’t just some random couple on Tinder who want a plaything to watch them get it on in bed. This is _happening_ , and they both _want her_. Gemma nods, mouth dry, and Eve laughs, stepping forward and grabbing Villanelle by the straps on her hips, tugging her closer.

They kiss. Gemma swoons. It’s both romantic and erotic. And maybe a little terrifying.

“I don’t…” Gemma blushes, glancing to the ground. “To be honest, I haven’t… Threesomes are new.”

“Don’t worry,” Villanelle croons, reaching for Gemma’s bra clasp. She undoes it, letting Gemma’s breasts free, and Gemma lets out a breath, as Villanelle presses against her back, ghosts her lips across Gemma’s neck.

“On the bed,” Eve says, in a tone that means only _do what I say_.

Villanelle, for her part, listens instantly. She sits on the edge of the bed, waiting expectantly, and as Gemma goes to follow, Eve says, “No,” and Gemma pauses.

She realizes pretty quickly how this is going to go.

“On her lap,” Eve suggests, eyes almost completely black, just shreds of her normal dark brown around her blown pupils.

Gemma walks to stand in front of Villanelle, who immediately leans in and tugs her underwear off. She pulls Gemma by the ass onto her lap, Gemma lifting a knee on either side of Villanelle’s hips. She sits down, letting out a gasp when she feels the cool strap press against her. Involuntarily, she grinds against it, already craving more. Except, Villanelle isn’t moving. She’s watching Eve watch them, waiting for…

Instructions.

Eve nods, and Villanelle comes back to life. She reaches between her and Gemma’s bodies, slipping long fingers right into Gemma, making her gasp. Gemma jolts forward, leaning into Villanelle and using the skin of Villanelle’s shoulder to muffle the sounds she’s already making. It normally doesn’t take a lot for her to get wet, and after downstairs, she’s slick and wanting. She could take the strap now, even almost asks for it, but Eve appears behind her, hands wandering between her and Villanelle to find Gemma’s breasts, cupping them and rolling the nipples between her fingers. 

Gemma lets out a cry then, breathing hard. “Please,” she murmurs, but what is she even asking for?

“What was that?” Villanelle asks, pressing her palm against Gemma’s clit.

“The…” Gemma trails off. “Can you…”

“Words,” Eve whispers into her ear. 

“Fuck, _please_ , just _fuck_ me,” Gemma whimpers, and then Villanelle slides her fingers out and soon enough, the hard pressure of the strap’s tip eases against her entrance. With a bit of stretch, it pushes into her, and then Gemma slides easily down the entire length of it, biting hard into Villanelle’s shoulder at the feeling of it. 

Villanelle’s hips bounce and do most of her work, strong hands on her hips and eventually on her ass. Gemma stops wondering if the sounds she’s making are embarrassing, she rides Villanelle as Eve slips a hand between them, expert fingers finding her clit and holding her there until she’s almost a sobbing mess, too much stimulation from both of her partners.

“Not yet,” Eve tells her, circling deliberately and slowly, not hard enough to stun Gemma into orgasm.

Villanelle’s own breathing grows short, just watching Gemma and Eve together. She dips her head down and latches her mouth onto a hard, stiff nipple, and Gemma groans at the new contact, feeling it pulse straight between her legs. She comes with a cry, suddenly and unexpectedly, and feels Eve extract her hand too quickly. 

She shakes on Villanelle’s lap, riding through it. Eve says, “Can I be rough with you, Gemma?”

Gemma nods. “Yes,” she gulps, knowing what’s coming.

Eve grabs her, really grabs her, and pushes her off Villanelle’s lap and onto the bed, pinning her onto her back and sliding a hand between her legs. It’s too sensitive, too soon, but Eve pushes two fingers into her and says, “I told you to wait, didn’t I?”

Gemma nods, biting her lip.

“And you didn’t,” Eve continues, curling her fingers.

Jerking at the movement, Gemma nods frantically, gasping. She barely notices Villanelle adjusting on the bed next to them. She watches, as Eve moves between her legs, rough and hard, Villanelle lean in and press kisses to Eve’s throat, a hand palming at her roughly. Eve loses herself in it, and Villanelle moves behind her and presses into her easily.

Eve lets out a moan into Gemma’s neck, not faltering as she fucks her. All three start a rhythm — Eve fucking Gemma, alternating between curling her fingers, pressing her thumb into Gemma’s clit, and thrusting with her two fingers, then three, and Villanelle fucking Eve from behind, slowly, pointedly, mesmerizing. 

Except when Gemma’s breathing gets quick, and she gets closer, Eve starts edging toward climax as well. Her fingers stall, slipping out of Gemma as she rocks against Villanelle’s thrusts. Gemma kisses her and reaches a hand between the two of them, finding Eve’s clit and helping her along. They are a writhing mess of sweat and sex, as Eve shudders between the two of them.

Eve comes quietly, with a lip between her teeth and Gemma’s unsure fingers circling her clit. She shakes with the feeling of it, letting out a soft _mm_ as Villanelle slips out of her.

Villanelle shimmies out of the straps, climbing up the bed as Eve collapses next to Gemma, staring at the ceiling.

“My turn?” Villanelle wonders, eyes dark. She kneels next to Gemma’s face, her soft and blonde triangle of pubic hair just a few inches away. 

Gemma is halfway through saying _yes_ when Villanelle straddles her face and presses down, Gemma lifting her head to meet her. She missed this, perhaps, most of all. She lets Villanelle do most of the work, as athletic hips grind against her face and Villanelle’s wetness coats her lips, chin, and cheeks.

Then there’s a hand between her legs again, fingertips ghosting along her outer lips and only just teasing entrance.

Gemma moans against Villanelle’s cunt, her own hips bucking. Eve tsks from somewhere far away, but presses her fingers _just_ inside, just enough. Villanelle, on the other hand, rocks faster and harder, grinding her clit against Gemma, and grips the headboard. Gemma revels in the taste of her, focusing on at least attempting to use her tongue, hands wrapped around Villanelle’s thighs.

Eve works her up again, with purposeful, even strokes. With Eve’s hand between her legs and Villanelle all around her, Gemma pushes past the edge far faster than she expects — she comes at practically the same time as Villanelle, both of them shaking with the force of it. But Eve doesn’t stop her thrusts, instead picks them up, and as Villanelle slides off Gemma and grabs her by the jaw, swiping her thumb across Gemma’s lips.

“That was amazing,” Villanelle murmurs, before pressing her thumb into Gemma’s mouth. Gemma sucks on it, hips twitching as Eve, and Villanelle’s words, push her into a second orgasm.

Villanelle lets go of her as she deals with the aftershocks, and then the three of them lay side by side (by side), with Gemma comfortably in the middle.

Ever the opportunist, Villanelle props her head up first, leaning on her hand. “Again?”

Eve laughs. “Chill out, not everyone’s in their twenties.”

Grumbling to herself, Villanelle reaches out and drags her fingertips across Gemma’s stomach, then between her breasts. “Gemma seems to be ready,” Villanelle muses, circling hard nipples. Gemma is ready, yes, but also still recovering. Both are possible.

Gemma loses count, eventually, with what they get up to. She wakes up with the light streaming into their bedroom, panics for just a beat when she realizes she could be late to her shift, but it’s only around seven. Somehow, they ended up with Villanelle in the middle, spooning Eve from behind with Gemma tucked in next to them.

Is this where she leaves? Something about creeping out without saying a word feels _wrong_ , but watching the two of them, despite the night they just had, makes her feel… left out. 

She moves to climb out of bed, but a hand shoots out and grabs her wrist, rather quickly. She turns to watch as Villanelle twists in bed and scoots over, wrapping her arms around Gemma’s sitting figure. “Stay,” Villanelle murmurs, lips moving against Gemma’s hip. 

“I’ve got to work soon,” she whispers, careful of Eve.

“Stay for a bit,” Villanelle says again, lifting her head. “We don’t want to just throw you to the curb.”

“It’s okay,” Gemma says, shaking her head. “I mean, this doesn’t have to be more than a one time thing.”

“Do you want it to be just once?” A third, more tired voice pipes in. Gemma twists to see Eve turning toward them, squinting at the sun. “Because we were thinking…” She meets Villanelle’s gaze. They have a silent conversation for a beat, before Eve sighs and continues, “We want to do this again. Is that something you’d like?”

“Um.” Gemma’s head spins. Yes, one hundred percent yes. But also: terrifying. “I…”

“Think about it,” Villanelle says, her hands straying to Gemma’s thighs. “Stay for a bit, let us convince you.” Her hand moves dangerously close to Gemma’s center.

Gemma stays. Gemma thinks about it. Gemma says, _yes, yes, yes_ with Villanelle’s face between her thighs, Eve’s hands on her breasts. 

Gemma is late to work, but it’s definitely worth it. 

**Author's Note:**

> @dykefruit on twitter :)


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